


The Secret Ultimate Technique

by want_exploding_pen



Series: The Secret Ultimate Technique [1]
Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Crack, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/want_exploding_pen/pseuds/want_exploding_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which General of Evil Hiruma proves himself capable of some very bizarre, dirty techniques.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret Ultimate Technique

**Author's Note:**

> Post America-Japan game.  
> I _know_ I should be updating my other fics.

_28-23._

It’s the oh-so-important life-and-dead-so-very-very-dead match point.

The Russian is… leading.

Which is good. Of course it’s good.

But since the loud determined obnoxious annoyed the fuck out of them brats from Japan are miraculously able to catch up fourteen points within the last ten minutes of first half in all manners of super, absurd, super absurd, pipiru piru piru, hadoken, flame-of-purgatory-hell-inducing, with the power of the moon, kamehame ha techniques, proud Russian coach, Kuznetsov, former man of prosaic romancing—

(He failed to get a place in sixteen theatres he auditioned for because he looks like a broad back honey bear. Despite his sensitive, poignant, emotional _feelings._ Because theatres apparently do not need broad back honey bears.

Which is _ridiculous._

 _Everyone_ needs a broad back honey bear at one point of life.)

—has to resort to the secret, ultimate American football technique of all time.

“The other team’s hitting on your girlfriends!”

“Huuuuuuuuooooooooooo! Kill them!”

…

“… But, coach, none of us has a girlfriend.”

“… Oh.”

Language barrier ignored, Agon suddenly bursts out cackling.

Sena helplessly wonders why he – and Hiruma-san for that matter – couldn’t laugh like everyone else. Is evil, diabolical laughter going to be a trend now?

“What a bunch of pathetic trash,” Agon says, flipping his newly-grown-swear-on-your-life-it’s-not-a-wig dreadlocks smugly. “Obviously they never had any.”

If petty ego glares could physically injure, Agon would’ve died, revived, and died again by the looks shot by his straight, girlfriend-less not-really-teammates.

(Agon will kill them first but it gets the point across.)

“Guys with girls should die!”

They give Agon the evil eyes from hell. Agon flips the bad birdie finger from hell back at them and cackles louder.

“Now, now…” Yamato raises the peacemaker hands, sounding like how a mother would say “children, please” and smiles a set of sparkling, blindingly white teeth like he’s doing it on purpose.

(Considering his personality sadly, it’s… most likely on purpose.

How is this Sena’s life?)

Some people are just _dying_ to punch the cover-boy smile off his cover-boy face.

On the side, but _never_ side-lined, Hiruma pops another sugar-free bubble-gum with a thoughtful (diabolically contemplating hostile world takeover) look on his face.

He glances sideway towards a certain tiny running back. Face pink over the cheeks and huge doe eyes wide and tanned skin gleaming from sweat talking with the white haired punk from Seibu and with the speed of a bullet train (or Shin’s Trident which is arguably faster or something), inspiration strikes.

A devil’s sharp-toothed grin (some sensitive, delicate mortal souls shudder at the sight) curves Hiruma’s lips.

He turns and fires his Gatling gun in the air.

“Hora, bastards!” Hiruma shouts in Japanese, swinging a fist with death-giving nails. “The other team’s hitting on—”

(A pause, for dramatic effect. A demonic smirk, also for dramatic effect.

Which is _totally_ unnecessary, Sena wails.)

_“Kobayakawa Sena.”_

Lightning strikes.

Monta gasps, “Meep!”

“Eh?”

At the sound of his name, Sena instinctively turns around only to “Hiiieeeee!” when he sees the pure evilness on his Hiruma-san’s shark smile. _Hungry shark smile,_ he adds. positively starving for blood.

And then there’s a full minute silence.

Someone coughs awkwardly in the background.

Like a trigger, some distant volcano erupts. South Pole glaciers melting. Tsunami on the western coast.

Psychotically killing intent pours on the faces of the unrepentant, immoral all-star and some familiar faces in the audience stand (and the three echoing “Huh?!” from somewhere in the front).

Shin is cracking his knuckles.

Sakuraba’s eyes narrow.

Yamato’s cover-boy grin tilts into a gentlemanly homicidal smile.

Akaba’s fingers strangle the strings of his guitar until they snap.

Kakei’s blue glare could’ve _frozen_ the Siberian Sea.

“I’ll fucking _kill_ them punks,” Agon growls with a homicidal grin.

“That’s not smart!” Koutarou scowls as he flips his comb against his hair.

Musashi is nodding solemnly beside him.

“Yare, yare…” Kid mutters, lowering the tip of his hat.

Kid’s always been calm and patient as a shooting practice in session, with a good head on his neck and not enough motivation to be rational with this wayward team and their protectiveness over the tiny brunet, which has them playing right into Hiruma’s hands without the usually _much_ needed persuasion.

Of course, unless one is blind, deaf, and mentally stunted, one would notice that not a single perverted, immoral soul could’ve gotten into the ten miles radius with an unholy intention for Kobayakawa Sena without having Hiruma Youichi’s business end of heavy calibre machine gun pointing at their respective heads, safety removed and all.

Yes, he is directly implying that his team members are blind, deaf, and mentally stunted.

But if anything, Kid knows how to keep his mouth shut like he knows how to choose his fights and enemies. _And you do not make an enemy out of Hiruma Youichi._ He’s something more than the fatality insurance could ever cover. Even if he’s classified as a hazardous value.

Besides, team building. And all that.

Gaou is too busy shaking the _earth_ with his laughter to be of any sensible help.

And then, _Ootawara_ starts to laugh too because he thinks it’s a _competition_ and boom-farts away.

Takami is sighing despairingly from his side.

On the other side of the field, Riku pulls a confused Sena behind him.

“Stay back, Sena,” he says, “and close your eyes.”

“W-What? What’s going on, Riku?” Sena says, growing increasingly worried at the bulging veins decorating Riku’s forehead.

“Because, this will get rough,” a blank-faced Riku replies, “And I promised Mamori-neesan I won’t let you see anything rated violence.”

“… Huh?”

Sena blinks again.

“Kill ‘em, Ya-Ha!”

“Ya-Ha!”

 

 

 

 

One high-summer evening, the world at large is shocked.

Because the Russian representative team is, for the lack of a better memorial tomb, brutally stripped of their dignity (as players and men and bears) by a humiliating 118-28 during the second half of the game by the newly minted Japanese representative team.

Rumours (cough-Hiruma-cough) have it that they would spend the next three months in the hospital trying to recover the physical bruises, pride or otherwise. The doctors have shaken their heads and send the team to spend another year in the psychiatric ward with acute post-traumatic syndrome.

(Hiruma pays for the therapy with uncharacteristic kindness but it just distresses the patients all the more.

_Which is probably his intention considering.)_

Coach Kuznetsov goes back to move lighting at theater backstage. He finds peace.

Every now and then, the choir of harmoniously evil cackling still rings in their ears and haunts their worst nightmares.

And then, they cry. Like little girls.

Hence, Japan becomes the most feared team in the world youth league; the infamous, the deadly, the embarrassing, self-humiliating _Kobayakawa Sena’s virtue, touch and die._

Becomes a somewhat legendary ultimate, secret technique of all time.

 

 

 

 

**Omake**

Sena fidgets, awkward, restless, as Monta and Taka, prosaic roles ceased because the team have resorted to caveman barbarism that does not need their aerial grace, each presses their hand over his eyes.

He can’t exactly see what is going on, but some things do no need visual aid and that scream just now, Hiruma’s apocalyptic ke-he-heing just now, Agon’s mirroring ke-he-heing just now sounded so… _so—_

_Did Hiruma finally kill someone? Did Agon and Hiruma finally kill someone?_

_Together?_

Sena shudders.

“A-Ano… Monta, Ta-Taka-san…”

“What, Sena?” Monta answers from his right.

Someone sobs. Someone squeals.

Sena gasps. In fear.

“W-What’s going on, really? I-I mean, why are you closing my eyes?”

Sena flinches violently when he hears something cracking.

“That's… That’s the sound of _bones_ , isn’t it? And is someone _crying?”_

Sena wets his lips nervously.

“T-That, uh… splat just now, umm, wh-why does it smell like… _blood? Oh god, it is blood, isn’t it?_

He squeaks and jumps when he _feels_ an earth-shaking boom. Is that even _allowed_ on the field? Why isn’t the ref calling the penalty?

“Umm, w-was that the grenade l-launcher?”

Taka looks down, face blank and emotionless, on the small running back. “… Do you really want to know?”

Sena thinks about it for a moment.

“I-I think…” Sena trails, “… n-not really…?”

Taka nods. “Good. Now settle down.”

Sena nods helplessly and twiddles his thumbs.

Because post the blood-bathed, _tragic,_ heart-wrenching Russia-Japan game, every time Hiruma, like the sadistic bastard of a despot he is, makes them carry out the “Kobayakawa Sena’s virtue, touch and die” formation, Monta and Taka will exchange speaking looks, sigh, and move in to protect Sena’s so-called innocent eyes.

Then Sena will endure what sounds like one-sided, cold-blooded slaughter, shuddering and flinching and squeaking appropriately.

And that is how team Japan managed to protect Kobayakawa Sena’s innocence.

Though someone – supposedly Suzuna, a giggling mini-sized Hiruma in the making – loudly suggests that _yaaa, buy him earplugs._

**Author's Note:**

> Crack, pointless. Head-desk. Repenting.  
> I don’t know why I even wrote this. Uh.


End file.
